


Far From Me

by FactoryKat



Series: The Mages' Champion and the Healer's Hope - The Wyatt Hawke Collection [21]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Custom Male Hawke (Dragon Age), Custom Trevelyan (Dragon Age), F/M, Homesickness, Light Angst, Loneliness, M/M, Minor Anders/Male Hawke (Dragon Age), Named Hawke (Dragon Age), Named Inquisitor (Dragon Age), Platonic Female/Male Relationships, Post-Dragon Age II, Post-Dragon Age: Inquisition Quest - Here Lies the Abyss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-30
Updated: 2019-09-30
Packaged: 2020-11-08 14:31:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20837048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FactoryKat/pseuds/FactoryKat
Summary: “So far from me. Way across some cold neurotic sea.”A misshapen pillow, hugged to his chest until his arms ached, was a poor substitute for the thing he missed most...





	Far From Me

**Author's Note:**

> Title from a song by Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds

Another restless sigh escaped him as he rolled onto the flat of his back. He laid against sheets that grew steadily colder with each passing hour that another body did not warm them. As they slowly adjusted to the velvet dark, his eyes stared straight up and searched the blackness for recognizable shapes. The gentle curve of the canopy overhead came into focus first, and Hawke fixated on even the most minute details, succumbing to hyperfocus at that moment when sleep evaded his grasp.  
  
Rather than the distinct scent of parchment and herbs filling his senses, the sharp air was empty of such familiarity, strange in its woody, almost mossy smell. Beneath his fingertips, the heavy wool quilt was rough and wrong, lacking in the softness he knew and longed for. It lacked the gentleness of a well-loved coverlet, torn and sewn back together several times over. It was an awkward weight that offered little trade-off and felt too stiff in the way it draped over him. In his ears was the piercing whistle of air carried through cracks in the stone. Not just those within his chambers, but across the battlements just outside the door. Beyond that sound, only roaring silence filled the space where he expected the pop and crackles of a hearth or the muffled snores of a loyal hound. He even missed the vibrating purr of felines nestled somewhere by his head every night.  
  
A misshapen pillow, hugged to his chest until his arms ached, was a poor substitute for the thing he missed most. Especially tonight, when his foolish predisposition towards heroics meant he had almost come so close to facing the void itself.  
  
For a moment, excitement bubbled up in his chest when he mistakenly forgot his next journey was not straight home, but further away. He would once more put himself on the chopping block on behalf of another.   
  
Varric would write, undoubtedly, in spite of whatever bad blood existed between the two men but -  
  
Well, sleep was all but a flight of fancy now. Wyatt pushed the offending blanket to the side so he could get up, bidding his body obey when he met with initial resistance. Though the oversized bed offered no homespun comfort, it held more sway over him than the thought of leaving it.   
  
Bare soles were cooled by the smooth stone beneath them as he stood and evaluated the pitch dark stretching out before him. The flick of two fingers was enough to bring forth light, summoning flame to ignite the candle’s wick, sat on the bedside table. At once, the shadows were chased into the corners of the room with the sudden illumination. As his eyes poured over the space, properly visible now even in the flickering light, they lingered temporarily on the armor stand just across from him. The Champion’s Mantle - so it had been dubbed. There was some pride to be had in wearing it, but also plenty of grim reminders. Briefly, Hawke considered strapping it all on and leaving Skyhold hours ahead of when he planned. After all, the Anderfels were far, and the trip would hardly be pleasant. The sooner he got there and dealt with the Wardens, the sooner he could return home to his warden, his heart and his life…  
  
Maker, the past several weeks had been a challenge, for sure.  
  
On a plainly carved rack beside the door, a dressing robe hung from one of the bare hooks - as did a set of equally lavish-looking slippers. The sat untouched since his arrival, part of some sort of “luxurious” welcome by the Lady Ambassador (or perhaps as a peace offering considering…) and that is where they would yet remain. Wyatt collected his tunic and trousers off the floor, finding his own threadbare attire far more to his liking than whatever resplendent amenities these people tried to foist upon him. He was no honored guest. He was simply a convenience, a temporary ally and one they practically threatened his closest friend to track down.   
  
He did not flee, but he did not lay back down.   
  
Hawke pushed against the heavy wooden door, after stepping into his boots, and emerged from the dim lodgings. Expecting to slip into night, dark as pitch, he was surprised to find a clear sky and battlements lit by a bright moon.  
  
“Hawke?”   
  
A feminine voice coaxed him from thoughts less pleasant than he would like and got his full attention. He couldn’t recall seeing another soul anywhere near when he had initially come outside, but just as well. Some company would do him good.  
  
“Inquisitor,” he smiled at her approach yet did not move to greet her beyond that. If she took offense, it was not immediately evident by the way she smiled back. Her green eyes steadied on him and pulled him into the fade all over again. His stomach turned, but he held his composure.  
  
“Couldn’t sleep?”  
  
Genevieve was a right sort, Hawke had determined in their brief time working together. As two mages, he felt a kinship; but he also appreciated what she was trying to do with the Inquisition. “Something like that, yeah.”  
  
She seemed to mull over his answer, weighing it, judging it, before finally nodding. “Neither could I. Not after - well, you know what happened..."  
  
Silence swallowed her voice and Hawke felt guilty for relishing the peace, that followed, more preferable to the stifling nothing in the room. A sidelong glance from Genevieve made Wyatt realize he was ungrateful. Though he had not said anything aloud, and she had no way of knowing what his opinions were on the lodgings, he still felt particularly vulnerable under her stare.   
  
The Inquisitor tore her gaze away from him (to his relief) and fell quiet while she admired the stars.   
  
Hawke followed in her example, wondering if perhaps there was something to them, something that she saw where he did not.  
  
_I bet you’re still awake, hunched over your desk and scribbling away._  
  
_ Or are you looking up at the same sky, wondering, praying that I return? Perhaps, you think I’ve abandoned you?_  
  
Swallowing was painful; the lump constricting his throat was a far too perfect match for the lead weight in his gut.   
  
“You miss him terribly, don’t you?” Genevieve broke his reverie, and he found himself more than a little puzzled.  
  
He let his weary body lean against the stone wall of the battlements with a posture oddly casual for conversing with such a prominent figure. Not that he was under any impression that the Inquisitor wasn’t just like him in some ways, someone who found themselves inexplicably thrust into a delicate position. One where too many people looked to you for guidance, to have it all figured out…  
  
His facade cracked, and his lips curled into something of a smile. “I’m rather obvious, I see.”  
  
“A bit like a lovesick puppy, but I think it’s charming.”  
  
Wyatt snorted at her, but his smile remained. “Is that meant to be a jab at my heritage, Lady Inquisitor?”  
  
“Only in good fun, I promise.”  
  
The warmth in her tone surprised him, and for the first time since his arrival, Hawke felt at ease. At least, in some small part, despite the ache that he nursed in his heart. It was enough that his mind conjured up the memory of their parting. Though pained as he was to leave Anders behind, it was the breathless passion of a kiss goodbye that lingered at the front of his thoughts. His lips still tingled with the buzz of the fade as his tongue remembered how the other mage had tasted.  
  
_Maker, I need you here, now._  
  
For it was not merely his heart that yearned…  
  
“You should write,” Genevieve spoke again, with all the hope of wild youth in her eyes. “When I was in the Circle, in Ostwick, I wrote letters to my family - journals rather - about my day. Every eve before bed, I penned a new entry, just talking about the things that were going on. What I did, what I saw, what we would be doing at that moment if they were with me.”  
  
He listened carefully and hung on every word before replying. “And did it help?” It was an intriguing notion, to say the least.  
  
Something about her expression changed, subtly, but Hawke did not point it out. “A little, yes.”   
  
Drawing a slow, steadying breath, Wyatt stood up straight and faced the Inquisitor. “I should try and get some sleep, but thank you, Inquisitor.”  
  
She laughed, musically and her smile grew. Hawke felt privileged to see her like this, to chat like a pair of old friends. “Please, just Genny. I think you’ve earned that much. Now go, I won’t keep you.”  
  
Right. Genny it was then. “Suppose I have. Alright. I’ll be setting off quite early, so let me say it was an honor, and if you’re ever in Ferelden-”  
  
“May the Maker watch over you, Hawke. Over you both.”  



End file.
